


With the Furies Breathing Down Your Neck

by LessonsFromMoths



Series: Sterek All The Time (lots of one shots) [23]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Apocalypse, Apocalyptic, Child, Dead Hales, Flashbacks, M/M, Moving, Random Encounters, Resident Evil Elements, Supernatural apocalypse, Survival, Teaming Up During the End of the World, Vampires, Warning- pretty much everyone's dead, Young Character, Zombies, apocalypse au, because i don't want to write bad ptsd, established partnership, kind of ptsd but not actually, so i didnt even touch it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-03 15:05:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15821361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LessonsFromMoths/pseuds/LessonsFromMoths
Summary: Stiles and Derek are two dudes trying to survive in this odd apocalyptic world overrun with monsters. Derek is a werewolf, Stiles is human. Many monsters have been infected, causing them to go crazy. Hell has been unleashed on Earth. Those who were not infected with disease have either chosen to take advantage of the chaos or try and escape it. Stiles is a human, the last surviving member of his once large community, and teams up with Derek, a werewolf who has no interest in eating humans.This story isn’t about them, though. Not really. This story is about the young vampire they meet, who changes their lives.*inspired by the “Resident Enis” musical series by Random Encounters on YouTube. I have never seen anything in the Resident Evil franchise ever in my life, so any similarities are merely coincidence*





	1. Addition

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy!  
> This is just a small drabble, but I kind of like it a lot??  
> Not beta'd, and title taken from "It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)" by R.E.M.  
> I love Apocalypse AUs tbh  
> Some songs that helped me out while writing:  
> Hunger, Florence + The Machine  
> Wrong Side of Heaven, Five Finger Death Punch  
> Him & I, G-Eazy with Halsey
> 
>  
> 
> Happy Monday, everyone!

“There!” Derek yells, pointing to a hidden structure, which kinda looks like a mansion. Stiles attributes the mansion’s existence to his lack of sleep, food, water, and, well...anything that isn’t fighting killer monsters and running for his life. “Do you see it? There’s a...castle,” Derek says, and he sounds just as confused and pained as Stiles feels. “Duck!” He yells, and Stiles hits the ground as he hears Derek’s loud growl, an indicator that he just shifted. He hears the wet sound of Derek’s claws slashing through something with a heartbeat, and soon sticky blood is raining down on top of him. 

“Thanks,” Stiles says. Maybe a year ago that statement would have been sarcastic, but he’s sincere as he pats Derek on the arm after the werewolf helps him up. 

“Let’s hurry. If it isn’t overrun, that place will make a fantastic shelter.” Stiles tries not to laugh at Derek’s use of words. He’s always been like that: saying things like ‘fantastic’ in the middle of the end of the damn world. Derek’s funny like that.

They both start running towards the shelter. Derek’s faster than Stiles, but only slightly--the apocalypse makes you do things you never thought you could, like run as fast as a werewolf. Anyway, Derek always runs slow enough to keep in pace with Stiles. He’s sweet like that. When they get to the mansion, Stiles can hear more _things_ behind them, and he doesn’t bother telling Derek because he knows he can hear them too. “Find a way in. I’ve got it,” he tells the werewolf, spinning around to face whatever’s coming, and he can hear Derek’s protests before he even says them. _“Go,”_ Stiles says again, and Derek’s gone. 

He raises his machete and starts slashing. He can hear guttural noises and hisses, and it only means one thing: vampires. “C’mon, assholes,” he murmurs as they lunge, and he slashes _one, two, three._ They fall at his feet, their teeth still gnashing in their working mouths. Black blood oozes from their disembodied heads, right out of the neck. “Gross,” he mutters, kicking a head so it’ll stop looking at him. Fucking bloodsuckers. He can’t hear anymore for the moment, but Derek’s still in his beta shift and that means that Stiles can hear him breathing through his fangs if he focuses hard enough. Stiles follows the breaths until he walks around the side of the mansion to see a front door, and Derek standing in front of it. 

“You got it, big guy?” Stiles asks, and Derek rolls his eyes, twisting the doorknob so hard the lock breaks. “Well, that could be a good or a bad sign. Someone either wanted to keep something in here, or out,” Stiles says optimistically.

“Which one would be good?” Derek asks, his words garbled by his fangs. 

“Not sure. You ready? I can’t be sure more of the bloodsuckers won’t come back.” Derek nods his response and pushes the door open with his shoulder. 

They stumble into what looks like a grand foyer, and Stiles gasps because there’s actual electricity on, and it’s _working._ There’s a bloodstained rug beneath their feet, but the pattern on it looks like it was once worth a lot of money. Stiles can hear Derek closing and barricading the door behind them as he himself looks on. There’s a dining room with a huge oak table to their right, and straight ahead it looks like the foyer turns into a large, open sitting room that’s connected to a kitchen. To their left is a grand staircase.

“What is this place?” Derek asks, and Stiles turns to him, annoyed. 

“Fangs in, please. Not all of us were raised by wolves.” 

Derek rolls his eyes but complies, and he looks human in an instant. “But really. What happened--or didn’t happen--here?”

“Hello?” Stiles raises his voice. “Is anyone here?” They both wait a second. “We don’t mean to intrude, but we were just escaping from a bunch of vampires when we stumbled upon your place. It’s very nice, by the way,” Stiles says, and him and Derek slowly begin walking towards the sitting area. 

“Did you kill Uncle Frank?” A voice from above asks, and Stiles and Derek both take fighting stances, whirling around as fast as they can to meet their new opponent. Stiles has his machete raised and Derek’s already growling, claws out. Stiles startles when he sees a small asian boy standing at the top of the staircase, leaning over the balcony like he hasn’t a care in the world. “He’s been trying to get in here for weeks.” Stiles lowers his weapon. The child doesn’t look a day over eight. He elbows Derek to see that the werewolf has already retracted his biological weapons.

“Hello,” Stiles says, ignoring the kid’s question. “I’m Stiles, and this is Derek. What’s your name?” 

“Jung,” he says softly. “Did you kill my uncle?” He asks again.

“Stiles,” Derek mutters under his breath, “he doesn’t have a heartbeat.”

Stiles immediately understands what that means. It also means that one of the vamps he beheaded just outside was probably Jung’s uncle. “Uh, yeah,” Stiles says, despite feeling Derek’s disbelieving and incredibly pissed-off glare boring into him, “He was trying to kill us and I beheaded him. So technically not dead, just impaired.”

The kid looks relieved. “Oh, good. He was really kinda vicious,” the kid looks at Stiles and Derek seriously. “I couldn’t leave.” Stiles and Derek share a look. “I have food, but I was gonna run out soon with Uncle Frank out there.”

Stiles swallows. “Is there anyone else in the house, Jung? Or have you been living by yourself all this time?”

The little boy pauses, seemingly to ponder the question. “Well, Morgan was here for a while, but she got infected and ran off. She was my cousin. But I guess Marta’s still here. Marta!” He calls, and Stiles prepared for a fight, but Derek places a hand on his arm and shakes his head. 

“Look,” he says softly, and Stiles sees a rather large dog barreling around the corner, tongue out and tail wagging frantically as she sees the new people.

“Marta is my best friend. I used to have more, but Morgan ate them when she got infected.”

“What do you eat?” Derek asks, and Stiles almost punches him.

The little vampire, though, just beams. Stiles can see his little fangs, but he’s very aware that, when feeding, the fangs grow at least twice the size. “You mean, do I eat humans?” He giggles. “I’m a vegetarian! I only drink animal blood and tomato juice.” He adopts a more serious look. “But once you get diseased, you drink everything. You can’t control it,” he says solemnly. 

“Why aren’t you infected?” Stiles asks carefully. 

“I must be lucky,” the kid says, and it’s a testament to his age that the words are not even sarcastic. 

“How old are you, kid?” Derek asks. 

“Ten.”

Derek and Stiles share another look. There’s no way in hell Stiles is leaving this kid alone to fend for himself with an uncoordinated dog named Marta who doesn’t look like she could maul a rabbit if she tried. And Derek knows that. 

“Are you guys infected?” The boy asks.

“I’m a human,” Stiles explains, “and Derek here is immune. He’s a werewolf.”

The two of them had found out, long ago, back in the beginning of their partnership, that Derek was immune. He had been bitten by another wolf, a feral one, and the wound hadn’t healed for days. Derek had isolated himself, convinced he would become infected like the rest of his family had been, but nothing had happened and the wound had healed. And nothing happened to humans until they were already dead. Then they turned into what modern media would probably call zombies, but what they just called the infected. The odd magic that crackled through the air took over the dead human bodies and reanimated them, causing them to be slow, decomposed, gross-smelling killers. Zombies were honestly the least of their worries, and easy to take care of. Besides, they decompose after a few weeks anyways, and most humans died when it all began about a year before, so there weren't many around anymore. 

“You’re bloody,” the small vampire observes. “Did my uncle hurt you?” 

Stiles purses his lips, reminded that he’s an absolute sticky mess. “No, I’m not hurt.”

The little boy laughs to himself. “Good!” He considers Stiles for a moment more. “Do you want to shower?”

Stiles feels his jaw drop to the floor. “You have running water?”

“Yeah! Morgan tried to explain it to me, we have a water thing that makes it so we won’t run out of water for a long time. I don’t remember exactly, but you can take a shower, or drink some water from the sink, or even run in the sprinklers! But we probably shouldn’t do that.”

Stiles swallows, thinking of running water that's not a creek or stream. “Please. I’d love a shower. And I’m sure Derek would appreciate one as well,” he gestures to his friend, and the little boy crinkles his nose.

“Yeah, he smells,” he says, and Stiles laughs, patting Derek on his back. 

“Ain’t that right,” he agrees.

“Come on, the shower is up here!” Jung says, and Stiles chuckles at him. 

He turns to Derek. “You’ll be alright here?”

Stiles knows Derek’s answer before he even says it. “I want to check the barricades. I’ll shower once you’re done.”

Stiles smiles. “A shower. I never imagined that I’d be taking a shower again.” Derek smiles back at him, a rare thing. It melts away pretty quickly, though.

“Do you think this kid is dangerous?”

Stiles thinks carefully before answering. “Well, he’s a vampire, and I honestly think that’s the most dangerous thing about him. He’s ten, Derek. And all alone.”

Derek seems to understand where Stiles is going with this, and he sighs tiredly like he’s put up with too much of Stiles’s shit lately. Which is probably true. “Let’s just see how tonight goes before we go adopting random vampire children.”

“So, do you wanna be Dad or Papa?” Stiles asks playfully, and Derek shoves him towards the staircase. 

“Go take a shower Stiles!” He says, walking away.

Stiles smiles to himself and makes his way up the stairs, still on high alert. Just because Jung said that there wasn’t anyone else in the house doesn’t mean that he isn’t lying. He’s satisfied with the first few rooms he passes, which are just empty bedrooms. Then he gets to the bathroom, which Jung is standing in front of. “We have towels under the sink, and you can use my shampoo!” 

Stiles ruffles the kid’s hair. “Thanks, Jung.” Jung just beams at him. Stiles closes the door behind him and sheds his backpack, then his soiled clothes. He’d love to say that he can salvage them by washing out the blood, but he’s afraid that if he washes out the blood the clothes will fall apart. So he just sighs and chucks them into a waste bin beside the toilet. Then he figures out how to work the shower and steps under the lukewarm spray. 

The second the spray touches him, he moans. He can feel the water running into every single scrape and crack that covers his body. The last year has been nothing short of hell, and it shows. The spray, though, reminds him of everything Before. Living with his dad, getting ready to go off to his second year of college, playing video games with Scott almost every night of summer since they both worked days. Shopping trips with Lydia, ice cream dates with Danny, bowling games with Allison. He misses it, but it’s at the point that he can think about the memories without it feeling like his heart is being ripped from his chest. It still hurts, but the thing about the end of the world is that it forces you to accept things and deal with things more easily. Everything is shit, it’s not worth getting hung up on it. He’s accepted that they’ll all die soon anyways, and that the ones who are already gone are easily the lucky ones. 

Even though it’s only a year later, most people are dead. Many of them died in the first wave. The disease began, and supernaturals were being infected. It was slightly worrying at first, but then it got very bad, very fast. The supernaturals who were infected began going on rampages, and it just spread so fast that even once the military got involved, it was too late. Everything fell apart in a matter of weeks. Hospitals were overrun, cities shut down, people died. And then people were reanimated. A few weeks after that, people began forming tiny societies. Humans created large barriers to keep out supernaturals, and uninfected supernaturals created quarantined communities to keep themselves in. 

But soon those all deteriorated as well. The supernaturals who were not immune or could not build up an immunity became infected, and the infected supernaturals were too much for the human communities, and those, too, were overrun. Between supernaturals and humans, the death toll rose drastically. Humans died, supernaturals died, and afterwards only the strongest survived. Stiles doesn’t think about himself as someone who is particularly strong, but he does know that his ability to compartmentalize really helps him get over things and move on. 

The end of the world is easily on its way, but Stiles decided long ago to keep fighting, mostly because he’s the only thing that can keep his family and friends alive in memory: he’s the last living piece of all of them, and he’ll be damned if he lets go that easily. 

He finishes wiping most of the blood from himself and uses the strawberry shampoo to try and get most of the blood flecks from his hair. Once the water goes from pink to clear again, he deems himself clean, turns off the shower, and dries off. He dresses in some of his other clothes that he digs out of his backpack and heads back down the stairs. 

He finds Derek standing awkwardly by a rear door, staring at Jung with a mixture of mistrust and confusion. Jung, unperturbed by the werewolf's glare, is playing what looks like Jenga on the kitchen table. Stiles sits in a seat next to him. “Are you playing this all by yourself?” Stiles asks, shooting a look at Derek. 

Jung nods, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he pulls another wooden block from the tower. He succeeds and looks at Stiles. “I asked Derek, but he was too busy looking for threats,” he says, and Stiles knows that he’s quoting Derek. 

“For real?” Stiles glares at the werewolf, knowing that his insistence on looking for threats actually referred to the little vampire, not the supernaturals outside the walls of the mansion. “Go shower, leave the poor boy alone,” Stiles rolls his eyes, pointing towards the staircase. Derek returns the favor, but as he walks past Stiles he brushes his knuckles on the back of Stiles’s neck, scent marking him. Yeah, Stiles can’t stay mad at that man for long. 

Stiles plays jenga with the boy while Derek showers, and Stiles finds himself getting information out of the young vamp, knowing that Derek was listening right upstairs. ‘Where are your parents, Jung?”

The little boy is unfazed by the question. “They died before everything started. But it’s okay, my aunts and uncles stayed with me. Where are your parents?” He aims the question back at Stiles. He figures it’s only fair.

“Well, my mom died when I was your age, long before all of this happened. And my dad. Well, he died when our community was overrun by supernaturals.”

Jung is quiet as he asks, “Were there any vampires?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, and Jung’s head drops, and he places a hand on the little boy’s shoulder. “But guess what? It was a werewolf that killed him. And not long after that, I met Derek.”

Jung looks up in surprise. “A werewolf killed your dad, and you still stayed with one?”

Stiles nods. “The werewolf that killed him was infected. It wasn’t their fault. And when Derek and I met, we knew that our best chance of survival was together.”

“How did you meet?” He asks. 

Stiles leans back in the wooden kitchen chair, blowing out a long breath. “Well, I had escaped from the raid on my community. Everyone else was dead, and so I tried to get as far away from the place as possible. The infected overran everything, and all of the humans that had died were reanimating. I decided to head east, since I didn't want to be trapped between the ocean and some infected. I was on my own for a week, close to starvation and trying to find shelter constantly. I was always fighting. Then, I ran into another group of humans,” he knows that his face looks grim. “They weren’t nice ones. These were the kind of humans that eat others to survive. They captured me and held me in their cellar, keeping me there until they planned to eat me.

“It was there that I met Derek. They had him in a cage laced with wolfsbane so that he couldn’t escape, and he thought his future looked pretty bleak. Well, I happened to have a blade on me that they hadn’t found, so I cut through my bindings and was able to get free. Then, I helped Derek escape his cage with the promise that he would help me escape and not eat me. He agreed, and together we overpowered the humans that had captured us. After we had done that, we learned that neither of us had anyone else, and decided to join forces. It was a little rocky at first, since it took awhile for us to trust each other, but ever since then we’ve been a great team.” 

Stiles remembers those days with great clarity: using his backpack as a pillow so he would know if Derek tried to steal it, falling asleep with a knife clutched in his hand, collecting mountain ash so he could circle himself with it when Derek was around or during full moons. Derek would sleep with his claws out on bad nights and never come within a few feet of Stiles, making the whole experience even more awkward. They went on like that for weeks, dancing around their fragile partnership, but then they were attacked by a pack of feral wolves. Derek and Stiles had both fought valiantly, and Stiles remembers the look of determination and horror on Derek’s face when he told Stiles that he had been bitten, asked him to make a circle of mountain ash, and to kill him once he became infected. It was at that moment that Stiles knew he could trust Derek completely. That the werewolf was more human than some of the people Stiles had shared a community with, as oxymoronic as that sounded. And when he hadn’t turned and the bite wound healed, well...no one has to know about their little cry fest in the middle of the woods. 

They had been fighting side by side for nine months out of the twelve that marked the beginning of the end, and Stiles knows that he can trust Derek with anything. He just hopes that he can convince him to let the vampire boy come with them. Hell, he hopes he can convince Jung. 

Derek comes stomping back down the stairs, freshly clean. Stiles whistles at him, and he rolls his eyes back. The interaction makes Stiles feel warm inside, a reminder of how much they’ve been through together to get to this point. The point where one of them can create ease in the other just by looking at them. Or wolf-whistling them. The first time Stiles wolf-whistled Derek had been a little uncomfortable, until Derek’s eyes had widened in understanding and his eyebrows had scrunched accusingly as he had pointed at the man, saying, “Was that a fucking dog joke?” 

“A wolf one, actually,” Stiles had replied, laughing his relief. “But I suppose that, if you think about it, dogs respond to whistles.” Since that moment, Stiles uses the wolf whistle to ease Derek and welcome him into rooms. Also, it doesn’t hurt that Derek is hot like smoking and the shower did great things for his skin. Plus, it seems like he had found a razor or some scissors up there, and Derek with a trimmed beard? Oh, be still his heart.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving,” Stiles says, pulling his backpack towards him. “Any requests?” He directs the question towards Derek, but makes sure to make brief eye contact with Jung too. 

“I could really use that pack of peanuts,” Derek growls, and Stiles tosses the turquoise-colored plastic bag to him. Derek rips it open and pours the entire contents into his mouth. 

“I have some food!” Jung says, looking excited. He jumps up from the table and runs into the kitchen behind them. When Stiles joins him, the kid is inside a walk-in pantry that has a shitload of non perishables and tomato juice cans. The little vampire turns around and sees Stiles’s mouth hanging open in astonishment. “My parents adopted a human, and she had to live off of something. We usually gave her canned soup and mac n cheese, she liked it so much.” The little boy looks sad, and Stiles decides not to ask what happened to his adopted sister. “But vampires don’t eat this stuff, it tastes yucky, so we have lots of it!” 

“Wow,” Stiles breathes, still unable to process it. There’s enough food to last them a few months, if they ration and scavenge like they have been. 

“You guys can have it all, I don’t use it. You’re my first guests that can actually eat food!”

“Oh my gosh. Thank you, Jung,” Stiles says, feeling his throat closing up in gratitude. 

“Yup!” The boy says, reaching forward and grabbing a can of tomato juice. Stiles watches as he uses his fangs to open the can, then sucks the juice right out of it. He remembers killing tiny vampires just like him, ones that were feral and infected. What if one of them had been Jung? The thought makes him sad, but reminds him how important it is to talk the little vampire into accompanying them. 

Stiles decides to leave the food in the pantry for now, and he and Jung join Derek at the table. Stiles snacks on a cup of diced peaches from his own pack as he looks at the two supernatural creatures, who are making faces at each other over their own food, and he bites down a sigh of contentment. It’s like their own little family. And it’s been a damn long time since Stiles has had anything like that. Hell, it’s probably been a while since any of them have had that.

Derek catches Stiles’s eye across the table and gives him a meaningful look, one that Stiles can decipher without even trying. It’s a warning. Derek knows that Jung will come with them, especially if Stiles has anything to say about it, but he’s warning Stiles that another member of their rag-tag team means another person to feed, to house, to clothe, to watch, to trust. Another person to lose.

Derek and Stiles had only picked up one other person during their time together, a young boy named Liam. He was older than Jung, in his young teens, and after a few days under Stiles and Derek’s protection, he had disappeared one night without a sound. Stiles had always wondered what happened to him, especially when Derek couldn’t follow the scent. It was a dark few days after he disappeared, and Derek is letting Stiles know that it might happen again, but it might be bloodier this time.

Obviously, Stiles knows this. But when he looks back at Jung, the tiny little asian vampire, gulping tomato juice and grinning at Marta as her tail thumps on the ground contentedly. “Jung,” Stiles starts, and Derek takes another bite of his food, decidedly staying out of it. “You know you can’t stay here forever, right?” 

Jung wipes at his mouth, looking suddenly serious. “I know. But I’m too afraid to leave.”

Stiles pauses, looking kindly at the child. “What if Derek and I came with you? You can stay with us, and we’ll protect you.”

“Really?” Jung looks at both Stiles and Derek, eyes bouncing between them before landing on Derek. “I can come?”

Derek nods cautiously. “If you want to come with us, you can. But if you don’t, we won’t force you to, Jung.”

“Can Marta come too?”

“Of course,” Stiles says.

The little boy is silent, considering. “I...I want to.”

“Okay. We’ll stay here for another day, but without your scary uncle out there, I don’t think this place will be monster-free much longer,” Stiles tells him.

“Okay,” Jung agrees. He pushes himself away from the table, standing suddenly. “What should I bring?”

“Some clothes, your toothbrush, and anything that you really can’t imagine yourself without.” Stiles sees the lost look in the boy’s eyes, and he chuckles. “C’mon, I’ll help you.” The stress in the boy’s face melts as he bounces away and up the stairs. Stiles starts to follow, but Derek’s hand on his wrist stops him.

“Are you sure about this?” Stiles looks at Derek, so serious, so concerned. His eyes are doing that melty-thing that makes Stiles feel weak in the knees, and his face is soft for one short moment. 

“Derek, we can protect him. Better than we did with Liam. We can give him a life. He can be _ours.”_ Stiles places a hand on top of Derek’s, which has taken to holding his. Stiles clasps Derek’s hand in both of his and brings it slowly to his lips. “Can you imagine how lonely he must be?”

Stiles watches Derek’s eyes cloud, and his voice is rough as he whispers, “Yes.” Stiles pulls Derek’s hand so that it’s cupping his cheek, Derek’s rough finger pads scratching his skin. 

“We can help him. I believe that. Do you?”

Derek swallows. “I believe in you.”

Stiles smiles, soft and sweet and just for Derek. “Good. Because I’m right.”

Derek’s smile is just as soft and just as private. “I know.”


	2. Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuation of the survival (adventures) of Stiles, Derek, and their little vampire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to finish this now (at 2am), but you know, it just kind of...happened.  
> NOT BETA'D and there's probably like a hundred mistakes. Sorry.

Words for the chapter: 아들 Adeul (son) 정훈 (Jung-hoon) 햇살 Haetsal (sunshine)

 

The house is creepy and moldy and Derek can literally see black goo dripping from the ceiling in what he guesses used to be the dining room. “I don’t like this place,” Jung whispers. It’s the first real shelter they’ve found since leaving Jung’s house. “It’s dirty and smells bad.” Marta whimpers and presses her cold, wet nose against the back of Derek’s hand, as if agreeing that they should leave.

“I know, haetsal, but we have to stay here the night. It’s too dangerous otherwise. Besides, Derek’s dirty and smells bad and we still love him, don’t we?” 

Jung cracks a smile at that, and Derek’s tired, but amused, protest is welcomed in the dankness of the new place. They’ve been moving east, hoping to find something there. It’s what Derek’s family was trying to do, comb the US from west to east, looking for hope. Even though Derek’s found his hope now, he figures looking for more can’t hurt.

Stiles doles out their food for the night, fussing over Jung by wetting his t-shirt with his spit and trying to rub the dried human blood from Jung’s face. Derek watches them, a painfully fond look on his face. Even back when everything was normal, Derek would never have imagined a life like this for himself. Despite everything, he’s actually content. Maybe even happy. His life as a laborer, broken from his previous abusive relationship and in pieces at his feet, doesn’t even feel like it was his own. It feels like that life was a bad Hallmark movie that he never saw the end of because he walked out of the room before Laura could rope him into watching the end of it. 

Of course he remembers his family, remembers how it felt to have their love and support, constant and strong, always at his side...and he wishes they were here right now to enjoy what seems to be the tail end of the worst part. But he remembers their fall all too well, and knows that the only time he’ll ever see any of them ever again is in heaven...or hell.

-  
-  
-

“Kill her, Derek.” Derek could feel his claws pushing out and retracting, over and over, his fingers hot and wet from slashing Peter’s throat not even five minutes before. “You know you need to. You know you _want to,”_ her voice coaxed, and Derek’s entire body hurt from resisting the shift. He didn't want to, not at all. He didn’t want to end his older sister’s life any more than he wanted to end his uncle’s. Why did everything always fall on him? Why was this decision his?

“Kill her now!” Kate’s voice screamed inside his head, and as she lunged Derek ripped out Laura’s throat with his claws that were still dripping with Peter’s blood. She fell hard, blood rushing from her neck, and Derek dropped to the ground and sobbed. “Now Derek, you have to man up and get back up. More are coming.”

Derek could hear the validity in her statement, knew that she was right. It was only going to be a few minutes before the next infected supernatural creature came to attack him. He looked around at the bloody bodies of his family. His father, killed by his mother’s claws as he tried to stop her from ripping Cora apart. His mother, killed by his father’s quick bullet. His cousins, who ripped each other apart. Peter, who he killed himself. Laura. Cora was missing from the littering of bodies, but Derek was sure that she was dead or feral: he could see the crazed look in her eyes as she burst from the shelter, snarling. 

He couldn't see much through his own tears, but he knew that he had to go. So with Kate’s voice in his head and his family’s blood on his hands, he ran.

-  
-  
-

Many things have changed in the weeks since they’ve added Jung to their unit. They’ve been spending more time hunting for live food rather than scavenging for it (Jung needs more than tomato juice to survive, and Stiles thinks that it’s hilarious that Derek so obviously loves hunting fresh meat with their little vampire), they’ve been staying in way too many caves for them to not be bears, and Stiles has learned how much he loves being a father.

He found out Jung’s full name is Jung-hoon, and he even learned how to spell it in korean, which made Jung completely light up when Stiles could finally do it perfectly in the dirt on the floor of their fourth cave. It seems like Derek’s adjusted well to the dad life as well. Apparently, his sister’s boyfriend had been korean, and he had picked up a few things, namely pleasantries and comments about the weather. Which is how they start calling Jung, haetsal, which means something that roughly translates to ‘sunshine’ in korean. 

Jung’s also taken to calling himself their ‘adeul,’ which means ‘son’ (and no, Stiles definitely did not cry when he found out what that meant. Not at all). Stiles kind of worried that their makeshift family unit would be weird, or awkward, or uncomfortable. But Jung and Derek both took to the whole situation much better than Stiles had anticipated. Plus, Marta is extremely good at diffusing any tense situations. Stiles swears that if he didn't already know that dog shapeshifters didn't exist, he'd think that Marta was one. 

So once the whole how-will-this-child-fit-into-our-lives crisis was over in Stiles’s head, a new thought began to take hold: how will they deal with a child in an actual apocalypse? And how does the actual, literal apocalypse affect a developing child, vampire or not? 

Well, turns out kids are incredibly resilient. Stiles should have accounted for that: their naivety and limited life experience keeps them from being able to fully comprehend the full weight of incredibly heavy subject matter and happenings. When they first left Jung’s house, Stiles and Derek stupidly forgot about Jung’s beheaded family in the front yard, parading them past it like they were looking at exhibits in a museum. Stiles had immediately told Jung to look away, but to his horror, the child was squatting next to his uncle’s head, peering curiously at its gnashing teeth. 

He had made some kind of comment about his uncle biting ankles, giggled to himself, and then had grabbed Derek’s hand before they crossed the street. Stiles had been left completely gobsmacked, wondering how Jung could just shake off that sort of encounter. 

Then he remembers that once, when he was little, he watched his dad run over a cat in the road. He had cried the entire night, and then the next day, when his family was going to lunch the next day, he made them pull over so he could show his dad’s roadkill to his mom, grinning and talking about how cool it was. Yeah, kids are resilient as hell. Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if it was a group of kids that were the only ones who survived this apocalypse. 

-  
-  
-

The next place they stumble upon is more normal-looking than the previous house, but it looks like it hasn’t been inhabited even longer than the other one. They walk into the house after Derek determines that there’s no one else there. Jung is sucking absentmindedly on a squirrel as they scope out the rooms, deciding on the best place to sleep. 

Derek opens a cabinet to find a can of peaches, excitedly opens it, and then physically balks at the smell wafting from the can. He tilts it so Stiles can see, and Stiles laughs at the black peaches sitting in the bottom of the can. Derek’s face is still scrunched up from the smell, and it makes Jung laugh, too. Derek feigns throwing the peaches onto the small boy, and he squeals, jumping behind Stiles for the purpose of protection.

“Hey!” Stiles protests, laughing along with Derek and Jung as he pretends and fails to be offended. “I'm not your Derek-shield!”

“Yes you are,” Jung giggles, running around Stiles as Derek tries to catch him. Marta yips quietly but joyfully, tail wagging and tongue rolling as she joined the excitement.

Stiles is grinning madly, watching his little makeshift family wrestle on the muddy floor of the house, trying to fight the urge to admonish them for dirtying their clothes. He loves those two boys, and he wishes that he can give them the entire world. He wishes he can promise Jung safety, and friends, and the security of going to sleep without worrying you won’t wake up in the morning. When he finally breaks the fight up and they settle in to sleep, Stiles drifts off with his hand in Jung’s hair and his legs tangled with Derek’s. 

-  
-  
-

The community Stiles lived in before was perfectly fine. Maybe it lacked a little safety, maybe it lacked a little trust. His father used to say that a bit of mistrust never hurt anyone. In fact, it’s probably what kept them alive for so long. Their gated community was reinforced with steel bars and wooden stakes and wolfsbane. They had a few descendants of witches who still had spellbooks, and with their combined knowledge, the community was able to make a few wardings. 

Stiles liked it well enough there. It was just him, his dad, and Allison. Everyone else was...well. Dead. Just like most of the world. Because there was no one left to save them. Everyone, including Stiles, had failed. It seemed like everyone was failing recently. 

Allison had a hardness about her that Stiles had never seen, not even when her mother and grandfather had died back in their junior year of high school. Her eyes lacked their usual warmth and compassion. She was paler than she'd ever been. He remembers the harshness in her voice every time she spoke, like she was angry at the world for letting Scott and Lydia and her father die. 

For letting Scott come back. 

It was easier not to talk about them. Instead, they talked about weapons, and where their next meal would come from, and how to make use of pine sap as a firestarter. They talked about watch schedules, and vampire hunting patterns, and the best way to ration their wolfsbane. 

“You're holding it wrong,” Allison said to him, adjusting his grip on the bow for him. “You'll need to get it right if you want to kill anything.”

“Give Todd my ration today, son. He's been looking a bit thin,” his father encouraged with a tired smile.

“If we can find out where those cub's mother is, we can get enough meat to last us a week,” Allison commented, pointing towards two bear cubs playing about a mile from their wall.

“We lost another today. Please go tell Jenny's family, I don't think I can do it again,” the former sheriff leaned back tiredly in his makeshift bed. 

There were unshed tears glistening in her eyes as she looked at the pack of rabid wolves about to break down their shabby metal wall. “I'm glad Scott's not here to see this.”

“I'm glad your mom's not here to see this,” Noah Stilinski said more minutes before he took his last breath.

“I love you, Dad,” Stiles remembers saying. He'll never know if his words were ever heard.

-  
-  
-

They walk past an abandoned park after leaving their eighth shelter, which was a room in an old school that looked like it used to be a spanish classroom. Derek catches the look in Jung’s eye and suggests that they stop for a moment to drink some water and recharge, since he can’t hear anything around for miles. Stiles looks like he’s about to protest (they are pretty out in the open, after all), but when Derek manages to catch his eye and barely shake his head, Stiles closes his mouth, nodding back.

Jung looks positively euphoric and he glances back Derek and Stiles before he sprints towards the curly slide. Derek notices that Stiles is grinning like a madman, and the second they hear Jung whooping as he goes down the slide, Stiles is off like a flash, clamoring up the metal staircase himself. Jung laughs with delight when he sees that Stiles has joined him, and he quickly convinces him to race on the double slides.

Derek settles in on one of the park’s benches, crossing his legs and watching his pack play. Marta, like the good-natured dog she is, settles in at his feet. Derek pours some of his water into an empty can and sets it on the ground near her, and she laps it up contentedly. Stiles spins around one of the metal poles and boops Jung on the nose, and Jung cries out, “Appa!” 

And it takes Derek a second, but he recognizes that word. It means Dad. His heart bursts with love for their little vampire. He remembers that it was not so long ago that he thought that the little vampire would betray them to his family, or drink Stiles’s blood if he got too hungry. He remembers when he thought he might be able to resent the child for taking up their lives and adding more worry and danger to them. Most of those fears dissipated after their first week together. Jung was sweet and quiet, and had managed to prove himself as a valuable fighter and hunter. 

Vampires, much like werewolves, had some enhanced abilities. Jung was incredibly quick, and his lack of a heartbeat made it so other werewolves or vamps couldn’t sense him until it was too late. The child never hesitated for the kill, which, while sad, was a valuable skill. His enhanced hearing and ability to smell blood from a good distance away also helped them detect if anything was coming near them. He had a harder time with other vampires and the infected, but the little guy could hold his own. 

So Derek really doesn’t have to worry about Jung’s safety. But that fact doesn’t actually stop him. He doesn’t really know exactly where they all fit into this world, but he knows that they fit into each other’s lives. He never thought, that after losing his entire family, he could find another one. Live any semblance of a real life in this odd, new world. But look at him: sitting on a park bench, watching his son run around with his...Stiles? 

This is another thing Derek isn’t quite sure about. Where he and Stiles stand. He figures that there’s no reason to define it: he would’ve found it hard enough to maintain and define a relationship before all of this, let alone now. There’s no time to actually sit down and talk about what they are, what they might become. As a werewolf, Derek is hyper-aware of all of the small touches, the heat in Stiles’s look. He’s addicted to the smell of Stiles, to the sound of his heartbeat during fights. They sleep side by side, Stiles is always scent-marking him. He finds himself seeking the human for comfort in times where he never would before. They never talked about it: were they lovers? Partners? Friends who went to each other for comfort? 

Derek decides that it doesn’t matter, not really. Because right now, they’re the most important thing in the world. Right now, they’re Jung’s parents. 

-  
-  
-

Right now. Blood. Now. The now. 

What is the now?

When is the now?

Blood. Smell. Squirrel. No, bunny. Cora. Cora called them bunnies.Oh, Cora. Gone. Gone forever. Mom. Dad. Laura. Peter. Gone. Dead. 

Derek, too. Gone. Dead. Not yet, but almost.

Dead. But no...pain. PAIN. Screams. Does he feel? Don’t know. Doesn’t know. Didn’t know. 

Cruel. Harsh. Voices. Oh no. Wolfsbane. PAIN. 

So, so lonely.

-  
-  
-

Shelter number eleven is a local doctor’s office. Since they’re camping out in a small town, it’s a very small, four-roomed office. The exam tables have rips in their cushions, and from the look on Derek’s face it’s from a werewolf. Jung loves it though, exclaiming something about having a real bed and bouncing on top of it. “I’m gonna go and find some sheets!” He exclaims, running out of the observation room. Marta lets out a soft bark and gallops after him, and their footsteps can be heard thundering softly down the hallway. Derek and Stiles smile after him, ready to get settled in themselves. They drag in two other observation tables, one that they find in another room and one that they find tucked away in a storage closet, shoving them all together to make a fairly nice-looking bed.

Derek sits gently on it, hands clasped in the way he only does when he’s at ease. Stiles catches his eye and he nods his head in response: yes, Jung’s fine for the moment. At that, Stiles sits next to Derek, their sides completely pressed against each other’s. Stiles places his hand on top of Derek’s clasped ones, and Derek takes that as a cue to rest his head on Stiles’s shoulder. 

Stiles can feel Derek’s hot breath on his neck, blowing on him in soft little puffs. He feels the warmth of Derek’s body against his, can smell the dirt and blood mixture that is totally and completely Derek, can feel the tickle of the man’s hair. “I’m a terrible person,” Stiles says suddenly. Stiles doesn’t even have to look to know that Derek’s frowning.

“Why?” Yeah, he sounds pouty. Whenever he sounds like that, it means that he’s scowling. 

“The world has gone to shit, right?” Stiles rationalizes, reminding himself more than Derek.

“I...guess?” Derek says, clearly not understanding where Stiles is going with this.

“Well, the whole world is falling apart. Literally. So why do I feel like everything is finally coming together?”

Stiles can feel Derek shift against him, and he knows that if they weren’t so close, Derek would be shrugging. Derek used to shrug a lot in the beginning of their partnership. It was his main form of communication. Actually, the first time Derek ever shrugged at him was after he had been captured by the cannibals, close to starvation, in that cold, dank basement. Stiles had been bound in duct tape, and Derek, close to feral as anything, was in a cage. 

-  
-  
-

“Hey. Hey, dude.” Stiles said, voice scratchy and pitiful. He tries again, this time putting some strength behind his words.

“Don’t call me dude,” the thing in the corner growled back, voice guttural. 

“Hey! You’re not crazy!” Stiles said excitedly. The thing merely grunted at him, but Stiles distinctly remembered it saying something just moments before, so he wasn’t disheartened. “Hey, can you get out? I think these guys are gonna eat us.” He paused for a moment, considering his own words. “Well, guys and girls. Cannibalism doesn’t discriminate. Or at least, I don’t think it does. Do you think women cannibals have to fight for equal rights to be taken seriously among the male cannibals?”

“I’m in a cage,” the thing--well, guy--spat out, seemingly ignoring Stiles’s rambling. That was probably for the best. His rambling wasn’t the most productive thing in the world. 

“Can you not get out of it?”

“Laced with wolfsbane,” the dude said, each word coming out like it’s painful. 

Stiles was hit with the realization fairly hard, harder than he thought the cannibals hit him with their big stick. “Oh. You’re...you’re a werewolf.” That was met with silence. “Well, you’re talking with me, so you’re not infected. Right?”

There was silence, but if Stiles squinted, he thought he could see the werewolf move his shoulders in a shrug-like motion. There was silence. It didn’t last long.

“Well, I’m Stiles.” 

The werewolf didn’t respond for a while, and Stiles thought that that was the end of their captives bonding, but then he said, “Derek.” Stiles took that as his name.

“Well, Derek, I’m sweating like fucking crazy, and do you know what that means?” Derek grunted again, which Stiles took to mean as, _“No Stiles, what on earth could that mean?”_

“Well I’m glad you asked. I think I’m slippery enough and my wrists are thin enough that I can...just…ha!” Stiles held up his hands in front of him triumphantly, showing off his one duct-taped hand and his other free one. “Freedom. Now, if I let you out, will you eat me?”

Stiles was now getting close enough to the cage that he could see Derek’s red eyes, and the werewolf was honest-to-god glaring at him like he was the most annoying thing on the face of the planet. And, well, with most of the population dead, Stiles wouldn’t doubt if he actually _was_ the most annoying thing on the planet. “Okay, okay, fine. We have a much better chance of breaking out of here together, wouldn’t you say?”

Derek shrugged at him for real that time, and Stiles just sighed dramatically. “Well, we can at least try it.” He noticed that on a nearby table was a pen and paper, and he grabbed the pen. He quickly pulled the pen apart and began to pick at the lock with the ink cartridge, deciding that it would take too long to straighten out the spring coiled at the bottom of the pen. He had Derek’s lock sprung fairly quickly (being the son of the Sheriff really had its perks) and suddenly he was face-to-face with an alpha werewolf. 

Derek just stood there looking at him, as if waiting for orders. He made no move to leave the cage.

“Well, hopefully that did the trick. We should probably make a plan, don’t you think? How about you come out and we get ready to escape for good?” Stiles took some steps back, leaving Derek room to step out of the cage.

Derek shrugged, but eventually complied. If only Stiles had known the significance of their meeting at the time.

-  
-  
-

“Maybe because it is?” Derek asks quietly, and it takes Stiles a moment to shake the memory and remember what they were talking about before. 

“Y’know what? My mom, my dad, my best friend...everyone I ever knew and loved is dead. Why am I...allowed to be so….” 

“Content?” Derek tries to finish the sentence for him.

“Happy,” Stiles settles on, and it’s that moment when Jung decides to come back, arms full of fabric. “What’d you find, haetsal?” Stiles asks, drinking in the smile on the boy’s face. 

“I couldn’t find sheets, but here are some curtains! Don’t worry, the windows were boarded up.” Stiles ruffles their little vampire’s hair, making the boy halfheartedly complain. Marta jumps up and licks Jung’s cheek. It’s hard to remember that their little vampire is eleven years old now, growing even through his almost immortality. The thing about vamps is that their lifespans are five times as long as the average humans. So they grow at about the same rate as a human child until they hit about eighteen, when the aging process slows considerably. It makes Stiles strangely happy, thinking of never having to see their little boy fully grow up. Always being theirs. 

“They’re perfect, adeul,” Derek says softly, and Jung absolutely glows at the praise.

_This,_ Stiles realizes. This is why he’s allowed to be happy. Because this little vampire decided to join their lives, Stiles is able to be happy. To find contentedness in the shitty, shitty world they live in. No matter the situation: the fight, the shelter or lack thereof, the hunger, the thirst, Stiles realizes that he’ll be happy as long as he has Jung and Derek by his side. They give him happiness, purpose. Without them, he would probably be dead a hundred times over. And not because of the infected. 

-  
-  
-

Jung knows something is wrong. Appa Derek is sniffing the air like Marta. _It’s a werewolf thing, now be quiet, Jung,_ he’s told. He can smell, too. He knows that there’s something here, but he doesn’t know what. He can’t remember what the smell is. Appa Stiles places a hand on the back of appa Derek’s neck, but that doesn’t work like it usually does. Appa Derek is still stiff. They’re walking slowly, and Marta doesn’t like it. Jung doesn’t either, if he’s being honest. Which he should be, said appa Stiles. He should always be honest, especially with himself.

There’s something in the air, a tension that feels so heavy and scary. Jung knows that this is so much different than anything he’s ever seen. Appa Stiles has a hand on his machete now, instead of appa Derek’s neck. It makes Jung uneasy, his stomach dropping. He grips Martha’s scruff a little tighter.

“Halt!” Someone from above yells, and appa Derek looks like a wolf, with claws and red eyes and lots of hair and fangs. Jung decides it’s a good time to bring out his own fangs, and he hisses threateningly at the person yelling at them. His parents never let him yell at people, it wasn’t nice. Plus, he can’t really see the person, and this frustrates him.

“Don’t come any closer! Turn around and don’t come back, or I’ll shoot!” The person says, and appa Stiles raises his hands slowly in the air.

“We’re not here to hurt anyone. Please, I’m Stiles, and this is--”

“I don’t care!” The person yells. Which, rude. “This is our part of town, and I am authorized to shoot if you don’t comply.”

“Authorized by whom?” Appa Stiles asks, and Jung wants to grab his hand and run them all out of there. Appa Stiles isn’t like him and appa Derek. He might not be able to get shot.

“I’m not joking. I’m gonna start counting if you don’t leave!”

Jung thinks for sure that they’ll leave now, but appa Stiles continues to talk. “Please! My companion, Derek, thinks--”

“Five!”

“--thinks that he smelled his sister! Do--”

“Four!”

“--you have anyone named--”

“Three!”

“--Cora here? She’d be a werewolf, and--”

“Two!” Jung starts tugging on appa Stiles’s sleeve, begging him to leave. Appa Derek just stands there, frozen.

“--this is her brother, Derek! Please!”

“One!”

“Please! Cora! Cora! Derek’s here!!” 

“Adam, stop!” A gunshot goes off very suddenly, and Jung feels tears spring to his eyes. Oh no! Appa Stiles has been shot and he’ll never get better and he never told him how much he loved him and--

“Jung? Honey, are you okay?” Appa Stiles is kneeling next to him, and Jung realizes that he was breathing hard. He looks at appa Stiles, and realizes that he’s okay. He’s okay. He breathes slowly, chest hitching. He nods. “I’m sorry, I know this is scary,” he says, and Jung wipes the tears forming in his eyes. It’s okay. He’s big, bigger than he was. He can do this.

“Cora?” He hears appa Derek say, voice cracking. 

“Derek?” A person appears from behind one of the buildings, her hair dark and her smell like appa Derek’s--a bit of wet fur and mud. “I...when I saw you fighting with out family, I thought you were infected. I...I ran,” she says, tearfully.

“When you ran, I thought you were infected. I thought you were going on a killing spree,” he whispers back. Jung watches them stare at each other for a moment before they rush into each other’s arms, and Jung feels a little jealous.

“Does this mean appa Derek won’t love me anymore?” He asks appa Stiles as quietly as he can. But maybe not quiet enough.

Appa Derek and his sister pull apart, and his sister has a funny smile on her face. “How about you introduce me to your friends?” She asks Derek.

Jung feels a little annoyed at being ignored. “I’m not his friend, I’m his adeul!” He says defiantly, lip sticking out. 

Cora’s eyebrow shoots up at that, and she looks at Derek. “You’ve been busy, older brother.”

Appa Derek smiles warmly, which is Jung’s favorite appa Derek smile. “This is Jung. We found him almost a half year back. And no, Jung, I'll always love you. And this is Stiles,” when appa Derek looks at appa Stiles, he gets that nice glint in his eyes that makes Jung happy. It makes him feel loved. “He saved my life over a year ago.” Jung feels proud at that. His appa Stiles, saving lives. Appa Stiles calls it _kicking ass and taking names,_ but Jung’s not supposed to say the word ass. But he can definitely think it all he wants. Ass ass ass. He giggles, then realizes that he shouldn’t when the adults look at him.

“This is Marta!” He says to turn the attention away from him, and he introduces his dog, who wags her tail happily when Jung pats her head.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Cora says. She looks up at the rooftop and looks back at them. “You’ll have to excuse Adam. He’s just trying to keep our community safe, you understand.”

“Of course,” appa Derek says, while appa Stiles says, “You have a community here!?”

Cora nods. “It’s been thriving on the rooftops of the city for the past year, almost. I joined about nine months ago, and I oversee camp recruitment. They’ve been able to grow select crops, make an irrigation system for waste, and build a real community. Plus, the high vantage point is nice.” She looks at Jung. “Do you think you’d like to check it out? We have lots of supernaturals, and some other kids about your age.”

Jung considers her for a moment. He looks at appa Stiles and appa Derek, both of whom are looking at each other, something weird in their eyes and their expressions and their smiles. Jung hasn’t seen that look in a long, long time, maybe not since everything went bad. He thinks, if he remembers right, the light in their eyes is hope. He thinks that’s a great thing to have. “What do you think, haetsal?” Appa Stiles asks him when he takes too long to answer, and Jung knows that he wants that light to stay in his appa’s eyes forever. 

“I want to check it out,” he says seriously, feeling very important that he got to make this decision. “Can appa Stiles and appa Derek come, too?”

“Of course,” Cora says lightly. Appa Stiles holds out a hand, and Jung takes it.

Appa Derek takes his other hand, giving Marta enough room to walk between their bodies. He smiles down at Jung, filling the young boy with enough warmth that he actually does feel like sunshine. “We’ll follow wherever you go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you like both additions!!  
> Also, Stiles and Derek's relationship isn't defined for a reason :)  
> If you liked it, drop a kudos or comment...I always respond!  
> Love you all xx


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